by J. M. Page
Torak stood from the Captain’s seat and stretched his stiffened muscles, letting his eyes take in the ever-changing scenery of Haven.
“Sande, report,” he said, not even looking at his First Mate.
“Engineers are processing the cool-down and refueling, all else is normal,” Sande’s mercurial voice flowed, always sounding somehow musical no matter the subject.
Torak turned to face his crew, all of them looking at him expectantly. “Comms on at all times. Unless you hear otherwise, I don’t want to see any of your faces for forty-eight hours.”
His command was met with a raucous round of whoops and cheers. Everyone loved port-leave, especially on Haven, the rowdiest wildest outpost in a dozen solar systems.
As the crew filtered out, Sande approached, a sly smile stretching his obsidian lips. “You always know just the thing to say.”
Torak repressed his own smile at the light teasing. His gaze drifted out to the planet spread beneath him, a myriad of small pods launching from his magnificent ship, descending down to the world of parties and workers of ill repute.
“Care to join me at Resnar’s for a round?” Sande asked, silver eyes hopeful.
Torak expelled a harsh breath and shook his head. “Not this time, my friend. I’m afraid I have other business to attend to.”
Sande’s jovial expression faded into a far more somber one and he nodded. “Of course. If you need my assistance…”
“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Torak finished for him. He watched Sande leave before he finally let out the sigh he’d been holding deep inside for months. He didn’t want to worry the crew, but his business in Haven was more accurately described as a lack of business.
For nearly a decade, Torak and his crew had never been at a loss for work. Smuggling contraband past the GTC, delivering shipments to war-torn or otherwise dangerous regions that others wouldn’t dare venture into, or simply lending their muscle to...negotiations — the crew always had more than enough jobs, enough that Torak could afford to be picky with which ones he accepted.
But something changed on this last trip. The job offers slowed to a trickle and then stopped altogether. Even the unthinkable had happened: some people rescinded their offers.
At this rate, the Affliction would be out of commission in no time. They still had regular jobs on retainer, but not nearly enough to offset all the costs of operating a ship and crew of their size. If he wanted to have any chance of salvaging his business, he needed to find out what had changed, and he knew just the person to talk to.
It was easy to ignore the rowdiness and lewdness displayed prominently on the streets of Haven City. It was less easy to ignore the looks of outright contempt he received. He’d grown up fighting anyone that looked at him that way. Now it seemed natural that people were suspicious of him. Whether for his heritage or his reputation, Torak didn’t know, but he’d long since given up on trying to be anything other than abhorrent to them.
Stepping into Agatha’s place of business was much like stepping into another time, another planet. She kept things simple. She was also the most paranoid being Torak had ever encountered.
“Comms,” a hulking gray-skinned behemoth grunted, extending his enormous beefy hand.
Torak pulled the device off his arm and handed it over where it was locked away in a lead-lined box in the floor.
The giant led him through a door thick enough to hide a body in and showed him to a seat in the middle of an empty room. There was a table before him, slightly off-balance with a wobbly leg, covered with scraps of lace, and another chair opposite the table. The walls were unadorned, the floor merely dirt. If Torak didn’t know any better, he’d think Agatha was destitute. But he knew how much information from her cost — it wasn’t cheap. He wondered what she did with her riches.
Probably spent it on more security measures. Or maybe she had a safe house of her own, tucked far away for emergencies. She was far too shrewd not to.
A hidden door — just as thick as the first — swung open and a tiny withered figure shuffled out, kicking up little motes of dust and dirt as she scurried, unhurriedly, toward the table.
Agatha sat in the other chair and Torak felt the air around him change. Suddenly sounds were muffled and dim and if he looked away from the table, the walls rippled: a force field. That was new. She’d somehow gotten more paranoid.
“You come for information about your employment?” It was more of a statement than a question, but she did him the courtesy of making it sound like a question.
Torak nodded, his heart rate increasing with every moment her pupiless white eyes stared at him. Visiting Agatha was always unsettling for so many reasons.
She held out a wrinkled hand for payment.
Torak weighed the stack of creds, thinking carefully before he handed it over. Paying Agatha cost nearly everything they’d made on the last job, minus basic expenses. If she couldn’t tell him what was going on, they’d be in far direr straits than they were now.
But what choice did he have?
Agatha fanned the stack of bills near her pointed ear and gave Torak a grin that made his stomach churn acid. She tucked the payment away and splayed both hands on the table between them.
“There are rumors, Torak of Basniel. Rumors that you’ve allied with the Queen. That you are no longer trustworthy.”
A growl ripped from his chest. “Who started these rumors? I will end them.”
Agatha tutted, shaking her head slightly. “You did, when you let the Trade Commission ships flee unscathed.”
Ice washed through his veins. They’d been outnumbered and outgunned by the GTC, Torak knew it, the crew knew it, the only ones that didn’t know it were the GTC officers themselves. It was a minor miracle he’d bluffed their way out of being blasted to bits.
Still, he didn’t want that kind of word getting around either — that the Affliction couldn’t take on the GTC. That would be terrible for business too. And he certainly knew better than to voice any of this in Agatha’s presence. There was no confidence with a broker of information.
“I’m not in the business of war,” he said, clenching his fists under the table.
Agatha pursed her lips together. “Be that as it may, confidence in your loyalties has waned.”
Torak clenched his jaw. “How do you propose I remedy the situation?”
Agatha’s eyes narrowed, and for a brief panic-inducing moment, Torak thought she was going to ask for more payment. “People think you’ve gone soft. If you want to combat that, I recommend you remind them why you were feared in the first place.”
Torak’s chest clenched, his blood boiling now. She was right of course. He’d gotten lax about collecting debts. Lenient when folks were in difficult circumstances. That all had to end.
In one fluid motion, Torak pushed his chair back from the table, stood, and offered a tiny bow to Agatha. “Thank you for your wisdom,” he said, his vision still furious red around the edges. People thought he’d gone soft? That he allied with the Queen? He’d show them. They’d soon remember why sons of Basniel were feared throughout the galaxy.
The old woman said nothing more as he stalked out through the heavy door and collected his comm from the guard. The moment he was outside, he contacted Sande.
Sande answered the call, the merry sounds of inebriation and loose morals crowding in. “Yes, Captain?”
“Sande, inform the crew that port-leave is cut short. We have work to do.”
Sande’s voice sounded strained when he said “Are you sure? The crew has worked very hard and deserves the break…”
“Who is the Captain here? That was an order, not a suggestion.”
“Yes, Captain,” Sande said stiffly, all familiarity gone from his voice. Torak knew that he would feel guilty for the slight later, but at that moment, he could only think about saving his reputation, by any means necessary. If the crew was angry with him, so be it. At least they wouldn’t be back in Haven looking for new jobs in a
month.
When he got back to the ship, much of the crew was already there, preparing for launch. Refueling would still take hours, but there was more than enough work to be done in the meantime. The attitude amongst his people was starkly different to that of only a couple hours ago. Now they were sullen, not making eye contact with him, and surely muttering under their breath as he walked by.
Whispers didn’t bother him. He’d dealt with those his entire life.
Once on the bridge, Torak had to face Sande’s dour expression. “What are our headings?” he asked without fanfare. Torak smelled the sickly sweet scent of Haven-made liquor on Sande’s breath and knew he’d ruined what probably promised to be a very exciting night for his friend.
He rattled off the coordinates and waited for recognition to dawn on Sande. The First Mate didn’t disappoint, his eyebrows shooting upward. “To…?”
“Yes, we’re going to see Jaxon,” Torak answered.
Sande opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but then thought better of it. Pressing his Captain’s foul mood was one guaranteed way to make his day worse.
Jaxon’s outpost was far from civilization. He was a hermit of sorts, surrounding himself with armed guards on his fortress-like base, settled on a remote asteroid at the far reaches of a distant solar system.
The journey took hours, his crew restless from their port leave being cut short. It was uneventful as far as these things went, and as they approached the base, a communication sprang to life on the screen in front of him.
“Torak!” Jaxon’s heavily lined face popped on the screen. “It’s been eons. What brings you to my humble abode?”
“I’m here to talk business,” Torak said, not giving anything away.
He didn’t have to give anything away for Jaxon to know what he meant. Still, the old man gave him a toothy smile and waved him forward. “Well, come on then, let’s have a chat.”
Jaxon’s warm welcome grated on Torak’s nerves. It only emphasized how not scared people were of him. Jaxon owed the Affliction and crew a substantial amount and his casual unconcern only made Torak angrier.
Torak and Sande were accompanied with a small contingent of crew members, those deemed most intimidating and useful should things become heated. It had been a long time since they’d done one of these collection calls. Maybe the crew missed this part as much as he did.
The old man’s guards greeted them on the gangway and escorted them to his office where only Torak was permitted to enter. The guards confiscated his weapons, but Torak knew he didn’t need them to get his point across.
Once inside Jaxon’s office — a richly decorated room, full of the creature comforts one couldn’t possess in a life full of travel — Torak was greeted with another smile that made him uneasy. Jaxon gestured to a plush chair upholstered in rare Grunthian leather.
“Sit, sit! Have a drink,” Jaxon said.
Torak entered the room, but refused to sit. “I’m not here for pleasantries, I’m here for payment.”
Jaxon’s face fell momentarily before his ice-blue eyes lit up and he had the gall to laugh. “Am I finally so lucky to witness an infamous shakedown by the galaxy’s most ruthless pirate?”
For a second, Torak saw only crimson. Who did this man think he was, laughing like that? Insulting him like that? Speaking so candidly like Torak wasn’t capable of snapping his neck with one quick move. There wasn’t even the slightest tremble of fear in Jaxon’s voice. Not a glimmer of worry in his eyes.
Unacceptable.
Torak crossed the room in two swift strides and hauled the other man up against the wall by the throat. Jaxon’s skull collided with the metal wall behind him, a sharp crack ringing through the room. For the first time, Jaxon’s carefully crafted mask of indifference slipped and he cried out in pain, trying to clutch at the back of his head as blood trickled down the wall.
“Let’s try this again,” Torak growled. “When can I expect my payment? If you don’t have an answer I like, I can offer an alternative to payment. Like this lovely base for instance.” He didn’t know what use he had for such a remote outpost, but he was trying to prove a point more than anything else.
Jaxon’s face turned ashen, nearly gray, realizing that Torak was not to be trifled with. “G-guards!” he screeched, still flailing, trying to free himself from Torak’s iron grip.
At the plea for help, the office door swung open and Jaxon’s self-satisfied smirk drooped as his eyes took in the carnage on the other side of the door. Torak didn’t have to look. He’d given the orders to incapacitate or destroy Jaxon’s guards as necessary before they ever left the ship. The old man was on his own.
“One. More. Chance,” Torak ground out through clenched teeth, his heart racing with the excitement of being back in his element. “Give me what I am owed, or I take everything you hold dear. Including your life.”
Torak released the old man, stepping back from the wall as he crumpled. One of Torak’s crew members took over, beating the man enough to send a message, until he was spitting blood, venom in his eyes. Then, he did the unthinkable and he laughed again. Torak resisted the urge to annihilate him on the spot. It was no easy thing to resist.
“I was just like you once,” Jaxon said, laughing, his teeth bloody. “Cocky, arrogant, the whole galaxy quivering at my feet, bending to my will. People once cowered at the mere mention of my name. It’s intoxicating, isn’t it? The power? The fear?” He spit out another glob of blood and chuckled.
“But look where it gets you. One day, someone younger, stronger, and smarter will fill your place and you’ll be nothing but a broken forgotten old man like me. Just you wait. Take a good look at your future, son,” Jaxon said, taking obvious glee in predicting Torak’s grim outcome.
“Take your payment and get the hell out of here before my back-up guards arrive.” He pulled himself up with great effort and took a sack of creds from a hidden wall safe, tossing it at Torak’s feet.
Torak didn’t have to be told twice. He scooped up the sack, peered inside to be sure he wasn’t being swindled, and ordered his men to leave with him, the old man’s warning still ringing in his mind.
What was all that about? Surely the old man was just bitter and angry that he finally had to pay up. It didn’t mean anything else. Take a good look at your future, son.
Torak shook his head, trying to clear that memory. As they re-boarded the ship, Sande clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. “Just like old times, eh? Been awhile since we had to enforce a payment like that.”
Torak nodded. “Everyone was due a hefty payday,” he said, depositing the creds in the ship’s safe. After operating costs, the profits would be divvied up based on seniority. More importantly, hopefully now word would get out that Torak was back. And people should be afraid.
It felt good in a way nothing had for a long time. Seeing the fear take hold in Jaxon’s eyes was like coming home in a way. He’d missed it.
There was a time when he was younger that that look cut him to the core, scarring him. But now he reveled in it. Relished the tremor of panic that accompanied his presence. If people were going to fear him, it might as well be for his reputation, rather than just his home planet. Sons and daughters of Basniel were known for warmongering and brutality as a whole, but Torak took pride in pushing even those boundaries.
Inspiring fear was all he’d ever been good at, and feared was all he’d ever be.
“Who’s next?” he asked, reaching the bridge with new-found inspiration. The Affliction wasn’t going to go under without new jobs. They just needed to go collect on all the jobs they’d already done. And if that happened to fix the other problem? All the better.
Sande pulled up the ledger for him and Torak perused the entries, settling on one very large account that hadn’t been paid in ages. He’d been too lenient with them up until now. And it needed to end.
“Here,” he said, tapping the name. Sande’s eyes grew wide in his head.
“Him, Captain? You’
re know their hardships and predicament. That money is for—”
Torak held up a hand, growing frustrated with how often Sande was questioning him as of late. “I know very well. I do not care. Call them.”
Sande looked uneasy, like he was considering disobeying, but finally, he sighed and placed the call.
Chapter Two
Mara
Mara looked up from her tablet to the vast inky blackness of space. It stretched on for an eternity, only the faintest pricks of light visible. One of those pricks was her home — a desolate little rock where she and her father lived when they weren’t on these recycling runs. The hum of the ship’s engines pushed to their max was nearly deafening, but they were both eager to be home.
Why, Mara couldn’t say. Their asteroid, littered with debris and things that might be useful one day wasn’t much better than the run-down sorry excuse for a ship they piloted.